Trick-or-Treaters (Saints & Haints, Chapter 23)
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The true story of a psychic medium's spiritual awakening continues in this excerpt from October 2022.
Chapter 23
"Trick-or-Treaters"
Otherwise, in October, my demons had seemed to be in favor of A at times; but more often than not they'd acted pissed off that I was no longer trying to hook up with S.
"The man still loves ya!" They'd cry dramatically. "He's sorry for his sins against ya!"
"Well, that is too bad," I'd tell them. "I don't want him. No longer interested." I said that over and over again, every day, until I was blue in the face. When that didn't work, they tried a new tactic. They talked constantly about his new girlfriend. Her name began every sentence.
"Jessica Sanders doesn't have to work for a living..."
"Jessica Sanders gets her manicures from S's paychecks..."
It was ridiculous. I told them that since they love her so much, they should just go and live with her.
Then they tried talking nonstop about the two of them having sex.
"I'll bet S is just now rolling out of bed... Jessica Sanders' bed, that is..."
"I'll bet S is slamming it hard into Jessica Sanders' pussy right about now..."
One night I told them, and anyone else listening, that I thought that they should have to talk about S and Jessica for the rest of eternity. I decreed that they should have to be locked up somewhere together, just the gang of them, and only be allowed to talk about that man, and that woman, and her pussy, and the two of them having sex... and they can just talk about it on and on, over and over... until they no longer know what the words mean.
To that, they responded,
"Shit. They might make us do that. You are not that bad at writing punishments for us."
Occasionally, they diverted from this amusement by making fun of me for not being able to find a decent job in this town. They'd say that there are plenty of men out there who would pay my bills, if I couldn't make ends meet, and that "I might have to accept hot jabs, if I ever wanted any fund sourcing."
I knew that they were talking about S and Jessica having sex just to see if it bothered me. Everything is a test. Test, test, test. Psychological torment. The prostitution comments, I surmised, were an attempt to provoke both me and A. It was a way of attacking our relationship.
They seemed to be in a better mood, however, towards the end of the month. They were somewhat back to being friendly and funny. They were keeping me amused at work again. One night, when I was frustrated because so many people act terrified by the prospect of using self-checkout, one of my demons commented,
"Demons don't know how people sleep at night... if they're that afraid of self-checkout."
Another night, when none of the other cashiers wanted to work in the lumber yard, I stomped down there myself; complaining, in my head, about how I guess everybody else is afraid to work down there or something. One of my demons said,
"Why is everybody so afraid to work in that lumber yard? Do they think it's haunted or something?"
They even piled into the back seat of S's truck one night and let me take their picture. I wish I could show you that one; but I can't, for his privacy. It was funny, though. Some were making faces out the back window, while others were popping up from the roof.
There is a training session at work that we have to complete every week, and it seems that the primary function of the store's managers is to go around and ask everyone if they've done it yet. One night, after I'd been interrogated about my progress, one of my demons, creeping up behind me, whispered,
"That paper-shuffling demoness... she's always on about some work reports. Yeah, we have to do work reports, too. She'll be like,
'Have you done your EVP for me this week?'
And I'll be like,
'No, no... I ain't done it.'
You see, we have to do enough EVPs to make everybody believe in Satan's version of Christianity."
I think the end of October is when I really started to believe that their dual personalities must be the result of whomever is currently influencing them. These drastic personality shifts, within the same group of demons whom I've gotten to know, can't be something they're doing just for fun. I think their sweeter sides are their true personalities. At the same time, however, every time I say something like that, I know that I'll probably catch hell that night for it.
On October 26th, I started working on a tribute to St. Michael foam-pumpkin carving. I got another download that day. I didn't understand the message, but it was something about the apple; Adam and Eve's apple. On the 27th, I was looking for my X-acto knives, because I was ready to start cutting out the tiniest sections of the pumpkin design. I suddenly thought of my Uncle Frank, and perceived that I was getting a message from him. It seemed to be a reminder that I had a wood carving kit he'd given me years ago in the closet with my old art stuff. I didn't perceive any other message, so I simply said "Thank you." This was a rare occurrence for me, feeling as though I'd heard from a family member. They definitely don't seem to ring often.
I underestimated how long it was going to take to carve the pumpkin, and on Halloween night, I was still working on it, while waiting to hand out treats. Just before 8:00 pm, I noticed that I had a different demon. The ones who'd been here earlier were gone, or had gone silent, having been replaced by "Youthful Exuberance," as I have nicknamed him, or simply "Youthful." That's my name for him, because his voice sounds like that of a very young man, and because he's playful, funny, and "exuberant," when he's in a good mood; but, like all of them, he has a nasty side sometimes too. He is in this group, but I hadn't heard from him in a while.
I took a break from pumpkin carving, and went outside on the porch to smoke. I began to feel that energy like a message was coming in, but for a long while, there was no message. Then a thought came to me of Mia, a black cat who lived with me for 19 years, who had died nearly 3 years earlier. I thought of her as a baby, on my pillow, above my head, working her paws in my hair like she used to. Then, a vision began. I saw Mia, as a chalk drawing animation, working her paws. I smiled and said,
"Awww... my baby girl."
Then I saw Daisy, standing at the door of my parents' storage shed. That was a still picture; like a photograph of an actual moment we had together. I remembered the moment, but I didn't actually take a picture of it. Then I saw Duchess, briefly, as sort of a cartoon version of herself with a halo. I knew that the image I was seeing was meant to be her though. It looked like an image I'd found online and saved because it looked like a drawing of her as an angel.
I perceived that it was A who was transmitting these images. I was getting the concept that he'd been getting to know my family and my babies. I saw a quick flash of him then, wearing khaki pants and a beige polo shirt, with no background behind him. There was an old-timey phone on a table in front of him. He was scooping up one pet at a time and holding them up to the receiver, and smiling. This animation looked like a realistic, full-color drawing. It looked almost as real as a photograph, except for the missing background.
Next, I saw a glimpse of that date we went on long ago by the lake, and then I thought of the flowers I had put on his grave. I almost-saw a motion, not really a clear image, but a motion; of a face that was like a transparent line drawing, bending down to kiss me. I understood the kiss to be a "Thank you" for the flowers.
I asked him,
"So what have you been doing? What is Halloween like for you?"
I saw a brief glimpse then, of a cartoonish drawing, of dressed-up kids trick-or-treating. There was a lot of purple. I caught a glimpse of a purple pirate's hat. I didn't even see the image clearly, but I immediately interpreted it as "trick-or-treating."
I was thinking,
"What? Trick-or-treating?"
Then I saw, again, the image of Daisy standing at my parents' shed door, and I understood the meaning.
I used to take Daisy, and several of my other dogs, on walks to my parents' and grandparents' houses, where we'd knock on their doors, and I'd exclaim,
"Trick-or-treat!" when they answered. Then they'd give the dogs a treat. We wouldn't be wearing costumes, and we'd do it on any day of the year, but I had jokingly referred to it as trick-or-treating. Daisy got very spoiled to this, and she didn't seem to understand that it only worked at her grandparents' and great-grandparents' houses. She thought she could go to any door in the world and get a snack. The picture A was sending me was of a particularly funny trick-or-treating excursion, during which Daisy had stood at the door of my parents' storage shed, stubbornly refusing to budge; I guess because she thought someone lived there. She had stood, tail wagging, looking excitedly at the shed door like she just knew that any minute, someone was going to open that door and give her a treat. My parents had to come outside and give her a second treat, to satisfy her, so she'd go home with me.
I was getting the concept that that was what he'd been doing; taking Duchess, Daisy, and Mia to visit my family members, and get snacks.
I said,
"Trick-or-treating? You took my babies trick-or-treating?"
I felt like crying.
I told him,
"I'm going to kiss you so much..."
Then I asked,
"Did you dress up?"
I had a feeling, for some reason, that demons were interfering with this broadcast. I didn't know why I suddenly started thinking that, but I did. The next images I got were brief and unclear. First I saw Kurt Cobain, in the white sun glasses and puke-green sweater. He had one arm extended, as if draped around the shoulders of an invisible person.
"Where's my anarchy cheerleader?" he seemed to be asking. That was the thought-transference I got from it. I knew what that meant, too. I always wanted to dress like an anarchy cheerleader from the "Smells Like Teen Spirit" video, and have my date dress as Kurt Cobain, like a couple's costume, but I never got to do it.
Then I saw an ice cream truck, and thought, "Okay, maybe that's why he's dressed in ice cream cone colors."
I saw a brief glimpse then of a drawing of one of those boat-shaped paper hats, like a 1950s ice cream truck driver might wear. I discerned the meaning of that series of images to be something like,
"Well, I would have dressed up like Kurt Cobain, but I didn't have my anarchy cheerleader, so I went as an ice cream truck driver instead."
Then I felt the energy pulling away, abruptly. I closed my eyes, and saw a drawing of A, alone, hanging up the phone. Then, in a chalk drawing, the DeLorean from Back to the Future was driving away from me.
I said,
"Okay...? Call me back..."
Something had felt off about the ending of that communication. It had been too sudden. There had been no goodbye. I had a sense that something had happened; something that wasn't supposed to. I also wondered why only two of my babies and Duchess, had been represented. I was a little worried, but I told him, even though he was offscreen,
"Well, kiss my babies for me..."
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